Again, in Tom’s own words: From WW2 in 1943 to Iraq in 2003, reflecting America’s changing moods and attitudes about war, A String of Banjos focuses on three families in southwestern New Mexico with the central story that of Jack Linden and Pecos Farley.

Jack, leader of a honky-tonk band, Bar-X Boys, persuades Pecos, fifteen years his junior, to fill a spot in the band for what Jack hopes will be the band’s last hurrah. Jack is tired of the grind of the road. He wants to devote time and energy to his ranch and his songwriting. Inadvertently they become heroes of the anti-Vietnam war movement, particularly of SDS (Students for a Democratic Society). Hey, what you got, grunt? Why, it appears A necklace of fingers, a bracelet of ears. Soldier, I’ll add to your fine souvenirs - Uncle Sam’s privates.

Despite girlfriends, they become lovers. Politics and playing around separate them, yet they continue to be bound together by contracts, record labels, leases, resentment, and an attachment almost stronger than but undeniably love.

When love is right When love is true, The devil plays a blue guitar. This work began life as a screenplay for director Richard Lester. He was complimentary concerning the script, but he declined because he thought that his earlier works A Hard Day's Night and Help! had pretty much used up his musical juices for the moment. Subsequent titles by which this work is known include Pecos & Jack and Ghost Guitars. In 2007 it was published as a novel under that last name. Over the years songs drifted into and out of whatever was the current version of A String of Banjos. Some had been pulled from the trunk and either used or eventually sent back to the trunk. Others composed for the work were pulled out over time and stashed away in the trunk. I you have looked into AN ASSORTMENT OF LYRICS you will have encountered some of them. Since there is not an authorized version, I haven’t worried too much about where they reside on this site. I think it is safe to say that the basic material, particularly as it relates to the changing nature of popular music during a particularly explosive period, gave Tom a lot of grist for his songwriting mill. He simply ended up with more songs than there was room for.

PLYMOUTH ROCKJack first meets Pecos when his friend Rio (Grande) Farley, Pecos's older brother, tells him that Pecos has written an operetta based on Longfellow's "The Courtship of Miles Standish" which will be presented as the senior class play at the local high school. Jack is impressed with the work (possibly even more impressed with the looks of Pecos and his twin brother Gila.) (Marge Farley had a penchant for naming her sons after western rivers). Jack invites the younger man to move out to the ranch with him and they will work on songs together, the first project being a rewrite of the musical as a rock opera, with the new title Plymouth Rock.For the original novel, Tom actually wrote a number of songs from that operetta, and it seems appropriate to include them here.All in the Village Was PeaceMonth after month passed away Pilgrims, PilgrimsAnd in autumn the ships of the merchantsCame with kindren and friends,With cattle and corn for the Pilgrims, PilgrimsAll in the village was peace.The men were intent with their labor, Pilgrims, PilgrimsBusy with hewing and building,With garden plot and merestead,Busy with breaking ther glebe. Pilgrims, PilgrimsAll in the village was peace.Mowing the grass in the meadows,Searching the sea for its fish,Hunting the deer in the forest,All anybody could wish?The head of the brave Wattawamat Pilgrims, PilgrimsScowled from the roof of the fortress.A church still, but also a fortress.No sound from the forest of war-whoops Pilgrims, PilgrimsAll in the village was peace. But at times the rumors of warfare Filled the air with alarm - Pilgrims!Come On, You Indians!SagamoreSachemPow WowAspinetSamosetCorbitantSquantoTokomahamonLet 'em comeIf they like.Come on, you Indians!High on the roof of the churchMy brazen Howitser's planted,Orthodox preacher who speaks to the purposeFlashing convicionInto the hearts of the heathen.SagamoreSachemPow
WowAspinetSamosetCorbitantSquantoTokomahamonCome on, if you will.Come on, if you like.Come on, you Indians!(Spoken)Then, too, there are my soldiers, my gfreat, invincible arme. Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock. Eighteen shillings a month, trogether wit diet and pillage. And Like Caesar, I know the names of each of my soldiers!(Sung)So come on you, Indians!Come on, you!SagamoreSachemPow WowAspinetSamosetCorbitantSquantoTokomahamonCome on, we're ready!The sooner the better!Come on, you Indians!(Miles Standish's impassioned threat and litany of Native American names later becomes part of Pecos's impassioned incitement of an attempt to take over Alcatraz Island and make it the center of a new "Indian Nation.")Speak for Yourself, JohnYou see a flower you want in a field,You know it's the flower for you.orur friend sees the flower and he wants it too.And you, as his friend, do you yield?Is that what a friend would do?And what if you knew, in the hand of your friend,The flower would come to an untimely end?Would you still pick the flower and give it away,Or pick it and nurture and love it each day?The flower and I wonder just what you'd say -Why don't you speak for yourself, John?Wny don't you speak for yourself?PriscillaThe Mayflower sails tomorrowAnd on it I'm sending the word:The word is Priscilla.Each sentence, paragraph, and letterOpens and closes with her name -Priscilla!Her name melts like honey on my mouth.My Love flows like honey to my pen.I write her name - Priscilla -And then I breathe her name upon the page again.Hers is the smile of the sunshine.I warm myself by her glow - Priscilla!Priscilla!Priscilla!

HELL NO, I WON’T GO

Sergeant, how they laughed When you caught us in this draft. It’s no joke, It’s true, sir, But the joke, sir, Is on you, sir. You may like our type, You may find us fun, But, sergeant, cut the hype, Would you trust us with your gun? We know what we’re like. Oh, Like some silly psycho We just might shoot All over your boot.

Refrain:

Hell no, I won’t fight. Take me a pill. Too freaked out to kill, all flaked out. War is a pain. I’ll stay here until It’s ached out. You think I’m insane? I’d be crazy to go where gooks are. Hell no, I won’t go- What for?

Hell yes, I look dumb - Like a retard. I’m telling you, pard - pay attention. Do I like girls? My prick’s getting hard, The very mention. Wearing high heels and pearls From my boyfriend I never stray far. Hell no, I won’t go - What for?

Hell no, I won’t go. Though it’s a ball With Napalm and all, Can’t see it. I’ll be in school This winter and fall, Not Viet. OK, I’m a fool, Call me a dipshit, that’s just how things are. Hell no, I won’t go, Hell no, I won’t go, Hell no, I won’t go - What for?

UNCLE SAM’S PRIVATES

Soldiers are symbols, An army of fools. Tools of the Pentagon - Off with their tools! Hey, looky there, all drippin’ with crud,Standin’ erect in the monsoon mud,Swole up with pride and American blood - Uncle Sam’s Privates. Off with Uncle Sam’s privates As ole Mamasan sang: “Off with Uncle Sam’s privates, “Cut ‘em off at Danang.”

It’s open season on gooks over here. There ain’t no season like shootin’ deer. A
doe or a buck, boys, it better stay clear Of Uncle Sam’s privates. Off with Uncle Sam’s privates! From the trees let ‘em hang. Off with Uncle Sam’s privates, Ho Chi Minh to Danang.

Off with Uncle Sam’s privates! Blow ‘em off with a bang. Off with Uncle Sam’s privates– Blow ‘em all to Danang.

I hear you grunts cryin’.“Man,” you scream, “Who put the napalm in the Vaseline? Ole V. C. Charlie been‘round tryin’ to cream Uncle Sam’s privates!” Off with Uncle Sam’s privates. Well, we start at Penang. Cut ole Uncle Sam’s privates, Right on up to Danang.

Off with Uncle Sam’privates, Gonna get the shebang. Off with Uncle Sam’s privates, Off ‘em all at Danang.

They’re on the run, boys, Westmoreland brags. Look at them toes though, look at them tags, And what’s with the bulge in them body bags? Uncle Sam’s privates!

Off with Uncle Sam’s privates! As ole Mamasan sang: “Off with Uncle Sam’s privates, “Cut ‘em off at Danang.”

SUPPORT OUR BOYS IN VIETNAM

Howdy, neighbors, guess it’s clearThe reason, friends, why we’re all here To support our boys in Vietnam And bring ‘em home now. Western Union, get it on,Send it to the Pentagon -Support our boys in Vietnam And bring ‘em home now.

It’s what we all have waited for, A good old-fashioned dirty war, Another stripe, another star for the Chiefs of Staff. Howdy neighbors, hoot and shout. This is what it’s all about - Support our boys in Vietnam And bring ‘em home now. (The simple sentiments and easy memorable words and beat led to this song becoming an anthem for the anti-war movement in the novel.)

SWITCHIN’ TO GIRLS

We wanna get in the Army, We wanna enlist. We want to wear a uniform, Don’t want to be hissed. Private, blow that bugle.Sergeant, wipe that grin.We’re switchin’ to girls- You can swear us right in. Switchin’ to girls, Switchin’ to girls, Switchin’ to dog tags, Givin’ up pearls. Pinned up our lockers Will be pictures Of knockers, And, shocker of shockers,We’re switchin’ to girls.

We want to do a few gooks, too. Oh, son of a gun, The numbers that we rack up Will be second to none. Don’t you smile and snicker Don’t give us the shaft. We’re blowin’ our curls -No, not blowin’ the draft.

Switchin’ to girls, Switchin’ to girls, Bring on the beaver. Bring on the squirrels. Pinned up in our lockers No more Elvis Or rockers, And, shocker of shockers,We’re switchin’ to girls.(This song becomes a big hit for the Gethsemane Brothers, an ultra-straight group who travel about with a busload of hippie wives and children.)

They’re holding Dale Evans for ransom But I don’t care, cause, gee, The guy beside me is handsome And he is holding me. Someday I know I’ll likely outgrow This Hopalong Cassidy phase. But till then I’m Bangin’ away the time At Saturday matinees.

OKLAHOMA TURDSIn the book, this was a joke Len Rudd heard in a barbershop during the period when the dust bowl migrants were coming through Las Cruces headed west. In real life it’s a joke told the author in the same barbershop.

“New Mexico,” said the Okie Who had landed in the pokey, In Deming, maybe Lordsburg, I forget. “New Mexico’s a fuggin’disgrace, Goddamndest place that I seen yet. Look at all the spics here, And all the hicks and pricks here. I’m a travelin’ man, Warden, And this is all I’ve got to say, This greaser capital of the world, Is the asshole of the USA."

To this ranter and railerSaid the kindly old jailer, “Dad, you are so right - I always knew it. New Mexico is the asshole of the U. S. Just look at all the Oklahoma shit That passes through it.

Pass right through, Pass right through, Lord, how I wish you Oklahoma turds Would pass right through.

Pass right through, Pass right through, Lord, how I wish you Oklahoma turds Would pass right through.Go on and git, You piece of shit Lord, help me git these Oklahoma turds To pass right through.

QUARTERS IN THE JUKE BOX

Big Brother and the Holding Company is a San Francisco group that Jack and most other non-San Francisco cognoscenti have never heard of. He knows its female singer, Janis Joplin. Jack thought her a powerhouse even before she changed her style, not that she changed it much. He thought her a real shitkicker and wished to hell she could have taken over Bar-X Boys instead of Skippy Gallagher. He’d written a honky-tonk heartbreaker for her, “Quarters in the Juke Box (Dollars on the Bar).”

Janis had sung the shit out of it at a honky-tonk in Dallas where Bar-X Boys was playing. In Monterey, she and Jack make one festival appearance together backed by Holding Company to sing the song, two ole shitkickers from nowhere, Jack already a celebrity, Janis about to be.

I’m wearin’ cotton stockin’s, I ain’t seen silk. Honey, your kids see Too little milk. Man ask me, “Lady, where’s the rent?” The corner honky-tonk, I tell him, ’s where it went Where you always are, Quarters in the juke box,Dollars on the bar.

The juke box is playing “He’s Got to Go.” Hell, yes!Don’t I know.

The children’s clothes are ragged. They need new shoes. You bum, you give ‘em Nothin’ but blues. Man asks me, “Lady, where’s the dough?’ The corner honky tonk, I tell him. Where assholes go - Where you always are - Quarters in the juke box,Dollars on the bar.

The juke box is playing “Am I Blue?” Hell, yes! Look at me, Then look at you.

SHE’S BEEN TO SUNDAY SCHOOL

She loves Jesus. I say ,“Amen.” Can’t you love Jesus and still love men? She says, “When we’re married and not till then.” She’s been to Sunday school.

I love Jesus, but, Lordy me, Some nights you gotta let Jesus be. He’s in her head. Me, I’m just at the knee. She’s been to Sunday school.

Jesus is always with us, I know. Every hour of every day. Jesus, I don’t doubt that, but even so, We horse around, won’t he look away?

I get frisky and she says, “Hey, None of that shit till our wedding day. Take that little puppy outside to play.” She’s been to Sunday school.

THE CORNHOLE CAFÉ

Herewith two versions of a song no longer in the novel, conceived as special material (very special) for the Bar-X Boys. A fey concept, to say the least, it would make greater sense of its comedic worth with a cowboy type singing it to an appreciatively boozed up Saturday night crowd. The men would be bemused, the women shrieking. Version two was written first. The one below came as an afterthought. Ideally, the two versions could be joined as one number, the second here sandwiched between the first and its reprise.

Look at that sign. Is that a joke? Burgers and coke. The Cornhole Café. Look at the trucks. Food must be good. You think we should? The Cornhole Café. Truckers and cops. I gotta pee. Ten minutes tops, Come rescue me. Don’t tell my wife. Look at them grin As we walk in The Cornhole Café.

THE CORNHOLE CAFÉ (2nd Version)

Your food is good, The price is right, I eat here ev’ry trip. You serve me fast And with a smile, I leave a dollar tip. Whatever’s on the menu, Fay, With me it’s A-OK. But, hey, Fay, Tell me, Fay, Why call this place The Cornhole Café? I have a lot Of buddies, Fay. Who’d like this place a lot. Your ham and eggs, Your hash browns too, Your coffee’s perkin’hot. Your blue plate speciality Goes over big with me. So, say, Fay. Tell me, Fay, Who picked the name, The Cornhole Café?I never use the toilet here. The thought plain scares me, Fay. If I have to relieve myself, I do it miles away. I hope that you Don’t take offense. Yes, please, some more caffeine. But does this name Make that much sense? Don’t some find it obscene? I’d like to bring some buddies here. But they’d look at me queer If I say, “Hey, What you say We eat today At the Cornhole Café?”

SPEED LIMIT

Speed limit fifty-five.That’s what it says to stay alive. But my speedometer read ninety-three. The
woman I love says “Fuck off” to me.

Speed limit, hundred fourEat my dick and I’ll try for more Heed no limit, no speed limit. The woman I love’s but a goddamn whore.

WAGGIN’ MY TAIL AT THE END OF DADDY’S LEASH

Clyde Sperry is head of a record company comparable to Columbia or Victor. Mesquite is its country label, Red Cannon a producer for Mesquite. This scene is between Sperry and Cannon about material written by Pecos and Jack for singer Carrie Sue Suppers. Sperry is worried about the decision to call the album Dollars to Donuts, after the song that Mesquite has intends to market as the album’s single, with “Waggin’ My Tail” on the flip side. Uh uh, it should be reversed, ‘Waggin’ My Tail’ is, in Sperry’s opinion is definitely the A-side. “‘Waggin’ My Tail’” Cannon argues. “If we push it, call attention to it, we’ll have Southern Baptists shitting bricks.” “Why?” “Moral content,” says Cannon. “Perceived moral content.” “Nonsense,” says Sperry, “It’s just a cute song, and a catchy one.” “Don’t give me that, Clyde. This is a kept girl and her john.” “I only care about how it hits me, and it hits me with a wallop. The country DJs will love it. Word of mouth that it’s incestuous will only help.” “Don’t you find it’s a little ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy’?” “So what? ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy’ was a hit. Besides, ours is aboit a dog.” If you say so, Clyde.

I’m his poochie He’s my master He can move fast But I can move faster Waggin’ my tail at the end of daddy’s leash.

I’m his missy, He’s my mister. I could be his wife, I could be his sister - Waggin’ my tail at the end of daddy’s leash.

When I rock around the block The cats all go “Meow.” My diamond collar Makes ‘em holler.

Ain’t I handsome? Ain’t I pretty? Look at this tail - The pride of the city. Waggin’ my tail at the end of daddy’s leash.Holdin’ it high, Waggin’ am IAt the end of daddy’s leash. [Note: I've always suspected that when ole Carrie Sue really got going on this one, strong men would grow weak and weak men would pass out. When asked whether there was any biographical content to the song, Carrie would just smile and say, "Never complain, never explain."]

THE DEVIL PLAYS A BLUE GUITAR

Love is on the side of the angels, So to the bad man it’s wrong. That’s why Satan sings the blues Whenever true love comes along.

When love is right, When love is true, The devil plays a blue guitar.

And here tonight As I kiss you, The devil plays a blue guitar.

Hear him strumming softly Just beyond the trees, Making mournful music Out of what he sees.

You hold me tight And as you do, The devil plays a blue guitar.

I CAN WAIT FOR YOU

If seeds can wait For spring to sprout. If bears can wait, Hibernate Do without, I can wait, I can wait for you.

If birds can wait Cold winter out. And mark the date They’ll migrate, Have no doubt I can wait, I can wait for you.

I’ll worry, Of course I’ll worry That you might stray. I’ll worry Of course I’ll worry. But, hey, what can I do - I could stray too.

If grass can wait Till spring to grow, And hesitate Tempting fate In dumping snow, I can wait, I can wait for you.

LEFT ALIVE TO TELL THE TALE

The mourners came, The mourners cried, And they, like me, Are mystified. With wounds this deep, With wounds this wide I’m left alive to tell the tale.

I had your love, I lost it too. I lost your love To someone new. She’s got you now. While she’s got you, I’m left alive to tell the tale.

Who do I call To cry my grief? Who do I call For disaster relief?

The mourners came, The mourners cried. They brought me soup Just like you’d died. With love played out, It’s me laid out But left alive to tell the tale.

IT’S ALL GETTIN’ PRETTY OLD

I used to dream about her kiss, I used to dream of doing this. Now, here we are together And me, I’m wond’rin’ whether I’m gonna hold up or fold - It’s all gettin’ pretty old.

Our love was like a story book, I got off on a single look. But now there’s no ignoring The whole thing’s kinda boring. It seems like a tale twice-told - It’s all gettin’ pretty old.

She had me higher than a kite, She had me somewhere out of sight - Well, we were up there flowing But in a wild wind blowing She lost me, she couldn’t hold - It’s all gettin’ pretty old.

MARTHA

A song about the last passenger pigeon, Martha, her passing a true tale. To be counterpointed with melodiesfrom “The Last Rose of Summer.”Martha - Last of your species. Died at One P.M. 1 September 1914. Extinct, Extinct, Extinct.

At a market in Milwaukee In 1892, You sold a dollar for a dozen. That was the end of you. Extinct.

Fowl, how we befouled you, How we plucked and disemboweled you. How we shoved you in their faces. You were cheap and you were aces. Boom boom - How we brought you down. We’re all pigeons, Martha, Passengers to our graves in the great Extinct. Take a lesson, you who hear me. Take a lesson from Martha, Last passenger passing through. Wave her bye and when you do, Remember you’re being shot at too.

MISS INNOCENCE

She was clean as mountain air,No smokestack pollution there. Goodbye, girl. She’s now past tense. Miss Innocence. She was priceless, she was pure. States of grace that can’t endure. Guess who knocked her off the fence? Miss Innocence.

We had us a fair exchange I’ll say in my defense. She gave me an untouched soul. I gave her experience.

She fell in love, what can I say. Put on my hat and walked away. Looking back, my guilt’s immense. Miss Innocence.